


Five Subjects

by TheTalkingPeanut



Series: Now I'm a Man; Yours [5]
Category: Joker (2019)
Genre: Arkham, Experiments, Fear, Human Testing, M/M, Terror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:36:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23386096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTalkingPeanut/pseuds/TheTalkingPeanut
Summary: Weekly for the Thee-Word Prompt: Sea, Perfume, HungryIn the belly of Arkham, things go on that others don't know...
Relationships: Arthur Fleck/Jonathan Crane
Series: Now I'm a Man; Yours [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1665307
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	Five Subjects

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the newest installment for the three-word prompt...thing from the discord server Chuckletown: https://discord.gg/V7fT7Y6  
> Prompts this time were:   
> Sea  
> Perfume  
> Hungry
> 
> Hope I did okay... heh.

Doctor Walker hates his first name. Even though he owes his entire life and career to it for shaping him into who he is today. This, he begrudgingly admits to himself only in moments of reflection; or when having a wondrous breakthrough. Or both. But  _ when  _ on occasions such as these does he allow himself to waste precious little grey cells in recalling that unfortunate first label that had been branded to him by his alleged loving parents.

The rest of the time he locks it down and away. Buried in the deepest part of the Earth to rot for all eternity. Never to be seen or heard of, again.

The funny thing about it is the name isn’t even all that bad. It’s rather common.  _ Too _ common - as a word in itself. That’s the problem. 

So if someone should ever be introduced to the Arkham doctor he always makes it politely yet firmly clear to refer to him as ‘Doctor Walker’ and nothing more. If anyone should call him ‘Doctor Guy’, be prepared for hateful consequences.

~~~***~~~

Walker’s mind wanders again. Has to do with his name and a point from his past. It isn’t greatly significant, so he’s not sure why that particular memory is resurfacing. Especially right now. 

His closest friend had gotten a pet in college; a dog. It was the first pet he ever owned while living independently. Great, big, bear of a thing. He doesn’t remember the breed anymore. It matters little. Only that when he came over to meet the beastly animal for the first time, his friend - Tim was what he went by, so ordinary - told him he named the creature ‘Cat’. Walker had asked him at the time why would he name such a voluminous hound ‘Cat’. And his friend had just shrugged in that laid back way of his and said, “Why not call her that? She looks like a big cat, so who cares?”

“But it’s not a cat.”   
  
“Again; what is your point? Your name is Guy, and you think of yourself as more than that.”

Sudden laughter disrupts his thoughts. He blinks a few times and glances around, momentarily disoriented as to where he is or what he is doing.

Pale white walls, the laboratory table topped with trays filled with vials, two boxes, a microphone, papers, and notes. A large rectangular window is facing his front and through that--

Oh. Yes. How silly of him. He’s in the lab on the other side of the observation room. 

Walker sighs and rubs a thumb up the middle of his temple. How long had he been standing here like an imbecile, daydreaming? He came in here for the clipboard subject notes and it seems he’s been holding it. He gives a quick shake of his head. He has a sense that these odd spells are happening a lot more than usual. He’s going to have to look into it soon.

No matter, he’ll worry about it later. Right now he’s needed in the other room based on what he can see through the two-way mirror. Walker huffs and strides to the next room, the door swings open smooth.

The laughing greets him first as he enters and closes the door silently behind him. 

In front of the doctor are five gurneys. They are evenly spaced next to one another. Each one has a body lying prostrate on top, retrained down by the wrists and ankles to the beds. All are gagged, none are sedated. Only one is female.

They are docile; some are whimpering, most are silent, one is laughing - though it’s stifled. It’s the laughing subject where his attention is currently centered on. But not the subject itself.

It’s on Jonathan, his young intern. He’s whispering something into the subject’s ear, one hand clamping down on its forearm to white-knuckle level. He appears calm, giving no tension away. But either from the grip he’s giving or whatever he’s saying, the subject keeps cringing and letting out a more agonized laugh. Walker takes a few steps closer and by God, he sees an actual tear streak down. That’s when the doctor notices Jonathan’s other hand is tangled in the subject’s long brown hair and is pulling it tightly. It’s evident he’s anchoring its head from any attempt to pull away.

He always seems to find Jonathan near that one particular subject. The others be damned. On one level, it makes finding the intern considerably easier in the massive labyrinth of the hospital if he needs to speak to him. Find the laughing subject, find Crane.

Alright. That’s quite enough.

“Jonathan, leave the subject alone. I have no use for a damaged one.”

The intern flicks one honey-brown eye at the doctor. Walker gives a stern look in return then turns back to his clipboard, making his way to the furthest gurney. 

He knows Jonathan is watching him closely now. There’s a very specific feeling he gets when the man stares. Like being dissected. 

“Of course, doctor,” Jonathan says, eventually straightening but doesn’t quite move away from that body yet. This irritates Walker for some reason. 

Walker writes something down on his list while observing subject number one: the female. “Is everything ready?” he asks, glancing from between the clipboard to the subject.

“Of course, doctor.”

There’s a pause, with only the sounds of muffled weeping, some clanking chains and a dying giggle hanging in the air.

Walker turns his head to his intern and scans the floor with his eyes, then back up to his face. “Then where is it?”

“It’s in the lab, sir. It was my intention to retrieve it however you appeared to be in your ‘headspace’ and I thought it best not to disturb you. Have I done wrong?”

He is challenging him. It makes the doctor bristle. He knows full well the doctor had clocked out for a bit and used it to his advantage. But there is no way he can prove it. 

  
This originally had intrigued him to the twenty-eight-year-old; being someone who isn’t afraid to throw out veiled words where - if one isn’t paying attention - will miss the venom underneath. It shows an intelligence that Walker wanted to help mold into something great for however long the man would be here. He willingly accepted the doctor-to-be as his shadow and quickly discovered they both had similar interests in certain ‘curious theories’. Now he had an assistant and confidant and his experiments doubled.

However…

It soon came to pass just how different the two saw the experiments in how they should be handled.

Doctor Walker is only interested in testing to see if it is possible to manipulate emotions through the base senses. Or at the very least, to put someone in a specific place in their mind due to one of the five senses and see if their reaction is different then their neighbors - due to ‘foreign influence’. His theory is that if such a thing is feasible, then anyone suffering from a traumatic experience and has a negative connection to something, then using one of the five senses in these situations will counter that feeling into one of positivity and the healing process will be an easier climb to reach.

This is what he believes. Originally Jonathan had shared and encouraged these thoughts until it became apparent the intern was more interested in not the whole spectrum of emotions, but just one. The only times the young man worked the hardest is whenever  _ Fear _ would surface. That’s when he’d come alive, put in more effort, deliver the finest results. The doctor let it go at first due to the help (and the technical illegal activity they were both committing) but now… now…

It’s reached an obsessed level in which he is keeping a watchful eye on. 

Doctor Walker doesn’t dignify the intern’s statement with an answer. He keeps eye contact and moves the discussion along, “Go and get it.”

Jonathan bows his head, unphased. “Yes, sir.”

Jonathan rests a gentle hand on the center of the laughing subject’s chest. which causes a full-body flinch. It’s breathing intensities. As Jonathan walks down to the foot of the gurney, he lets his hand slide lazily down the length of the subject’s body, graze over the crotch then continue its path down one thigh. He takes his time, never breaking eye-contact with Walker. Pained, strangled laughing struggles to make its way past the gag. The body keeps wiggling, detesting the touch. But it has nowhere to go.

Walker can see Jonathan’s eyes sparkle at the response, a subtle smile slowly forming during the process. When he reaches the pale and naked feet his fingers give one final, loving caress all the way down to the toes. He’s feeding off the control.

Once his hand falls to his side does he turn to leave. He watches him till he’s out of sight then sighs heavily. He continues to check the current conditions of each subject and jots it down.

  
  


Subject one: Female. Native American. 49 Years. Has basic motor function. Cognitive state low. Tame when restrained. Deemed - passable.

Subject two: Male. African American. 22 Years. Has exceptional motor function. Cognitive state varies. Struggles when restrained. Deemed - acceptable. 

Subject three: Male. Caucasian. 65 Years. Has limited motor function. Cognitive state low. Tame when restrained. Deemed - passable.

Subject four: Male. Caucasian. 42 Years. Has exceptional motor function. Cognitive state is erratic. Unpredictable when restrained. Deemed - acceptable.

Subject five: Male. Asian. 31 years. Has basic motor function. Cognitive state varies. Tame when restrained. Deemed - acceptable.

  
  


He keeps the notes simple for safety's sake. Should they ever fall into the wrong hands the vagueness to any outside source would not be able to trace it back as easily to either them nor the subjects listed. It all seems harmless with the significance lost on anyone but them. As it should be.

Walker scribbles a few remaining details on the last subject as Jonathan returns. The intern has rolled in a trolley where on top lies a tray of vials, a tea candle, a box of matches, and a hollowed-out clay-looking jug with an open archway on one side and a matching plate-shaped piece sitting atop. Walker raises an eyebrow when he sees it; he has no memory of requesting such a thing. He gives the younger man a questioning look but the other says nothing. Only stares. The doctor figures he’s going to hear about it soon enough anyway so he drops it.

Walker eyes each patient like he’s come to a conclusion. “Alright. We’re going to try D-37 tonight so if you would please get the formula ready--”   
  
“Actually, doctor,” Jonathan interrupts, catching Walker off-guard. “If you don’t mind, I would like to try something I’ve been working on in my spare time.”

This shouldn’t surprise him. Nothing about this should be the least bit surprising. The man is an academic genius, he’s within his right to work on whatever he pleases in his off hours - particularly if it has to do with his future career. 

It’s only that for one thing, this news is sudden and out of the blue. And the other thing is--

“You never told me you were working on your own formula.” It comes out sounding wounded.

It doesn’t go unnoticed. Crane’s eyes burn with glee for a fleeting moment then vanish. Walker doesn’t have time to question it when his intern says, “I wasn’t in fact sure it would be all successful. At first. I pre-tested it, of course, and it has surpassed all my expectations.”   
  
Walker studies his face carefully. “Really?”   
  
“Yes, doctor. I would never waste your time with something that failed.” He smiles. There’s a deep-seated menace behind it. Again, Walker chooses to ignore it. Instead, his mind is lingering back to what Jonathan previously stated.

“You mentioned you ‘pre-tested it’. How? On whom? On yourself, or one of the patients here? If so, when did you find the time to do this without mine or anyone’s awareness?”

Jonathan doesn’t answer him. He just continues to give him that cold and empty smile. He tilts his head up a bit to give the impression of staring the doctor down, hands clasped, but otherwise doesn’t move.

Walker waits a few seconds but it only grows awkward. At least for him. It’s another power-play. Normally he’d be up to challenge the young man but after zoning out earlier he feels his mind tonight is not quite up to full power. He relents and wonders why he’s so reluctant to try something other than his own ideas.

The doctor let out a sigh. “Very well. Take me through it. Let’s see what you’ve made.”

“Thank you, sir.”

In the tray, Jonathan picks up a vial that’s larger than the others. Each vial has a distinct, transparent color liquid in them. But the one Jonathan picks up is grossly different. The liquid has substance to it and the color… well, the color doesn’t quite seem to be a color, exactly. 

In fact, the more Walker stares at it in its little glass tube, the more he isn’t sure what the hell it is. He’s beginning to have second thoughts.

Jonathan pops off the lid and both men are instantly hit with a strong scent of--

“Posies?” Walker asks while being taken in by the flowery aroma, staring at the bottle and then him, curiously.

Jonathan gives a half-hearted shrug, “I thought it best it has pleasing notes to it. Also easier to trigger this way. Possibly help get the mind to be more at ease.”

Now this,  _ this _ impresses Walker. And he makes sure it shows on his face as he tells the intern so. The young man  _ was _ thinking with the five sensory ideas in mind when he was working on his own. And he chose not one flower in particular but an arrangement of sorts to make a sweet-smelling bouquet. It was brilliant. The kind of brilliance where if successful, any flower scent could activate it in any situation. Stunningly perfect. 

Why hadn’t he thought of a collective idea like that?

He took a step back and watches as Jonathan pours two-thirds of the contents into the top part of the ceramic dish. Corks the vial, then sets it aside. He takes a match out of the matchbox and moves the candle inside the body of the jug.

That ‘s when it clicks with the doctor, and his face relaxes with clarity. “You’ve made a potpourri.”

“Correct, doctor. Indeed I have.” He side glances to the older man, quirks a smile, “Thought it would work best in a setting such as this.”

He strikes the match - to which a few of the subjects react negatively to, both at the sound and sight of it lit, their yelps suppressed by the gags - bursting forth a new element the little wooden stick never had before. He then reaches it into light the virgin wick. From the union of the two, a new flame is born and grows. That’s when Jonathan yanks the burning match back and shakes it viciously, snuffing out the light. From its bent and twisted remains smoke billows. All that is left to show it once had life.

Jonathan tosses it across the floor. The janitors will see to it later. Unseen to any of them, the tea candle’s flame flickers.

The intern maneuvers the trolly into a better position in front of subject three. He steps back and admires his handiwork. “Alright, doctor. That’s all to be done for now, though I recommend we head to the room parallel lest we also would care to partake in the test.”

He caught the meaning and followed Jonathan out the door. It didn’t go unnoticed to him that before Jonathan turned to leave he tickled his fingertips under the bottom of the laughing subject’s feet. It responded with a whimper. 

Walker closed the door as quietly as he could, looking both ways down the hallway. The lights were out. They were operating on one of the lower floors past working hours. Not even a swirl of dust moves from their shuffling it’s that dead down here. But one can never be too careful.

Walker shuts the door behind him in the room one over. He goes to stand next to his intern who is facing the large two-way mirror into the observation room.

“What’s the time?” he asks the younger man.

Crane checks his wristwatch. He has to lean in closer to the window; the lights are off in their room. “Eleven forty-three.”

One of the subjects starts to hum.

“How does it work?” Walker asks.

“The chemical inside needs to be activated then released into the air. The subjects will breathe it in, and we will know from there.”

“So, when we were in there, breathing it in at ground zero, it’s all moot because it had not yet been activated. Is that what you’re saying?”

“Yes.”

“Therefore we are unaffected?”

“Yes.”

Walker nods to himself. Then, “How long until it ‘activates’?”

“Rather rapidly, if I’m being honest.” He checks his watch again. “It will let off a white smoke and that is when you begin your part.” Jonathan gestures to the microphone.

Walker stares at the intern, now suddenly wondering if his doubts were misplaced. He turns to face the subjects again. “Alright then.”

All the subjects have gone strangely quiet. Not all at once, but dropping off at a time. A wispy white smoke rises from the potpourri.

“There you go, doctor.”

Walker bends over the microphone and switches it on. He’s done this before. _ They’ve _ done this before. This part is routine. The only stressor is where does he want them to go. 

He chooses the ocean this time around. 

“Close your eyes, and relax. Listen to the sound of my voice as I guide you to a calming place. Just relax. We’re traveling now.

You are somewhere that is beginning to come into focus. It’s getting clearer now in your mind’s eye. You are standing on a white, sandy beach. A smooth rock wall is behind you providing comforting shade, should you need it. You wiggle your toes in the sand (a handful of the subjects’ feet twitch), it is a fine grain, soft. It’s warm to the touch but it doesn’t burn. It’s just right. 

You stare off into the distance. A gentle breeze plays around your body. Ahead of you is the bluest, most magnificent sea you’ve ever seen. Its waters are crystal clear and sparkle in the sunlight. The waves are still. It’s so inviting. You begin to walk towards it. (A couple of the subjects’ knees bend, some utter a soft moan.) 

You dip your toes in the water to test it, and it feels amazing. It’s not hot nor cold. The water is perfect. You continue to walk out into the water. It feels exhilarating. You sigh (several do).”   
  
“Curious,” mumbles Jonathan.

Walker flashes him a stern glare for the interruption then goes back into it.

“The soothing water is up to your calves now. You keep going. Every step brings you closer into the beautiful blue. It’s up to your knees now. Cocooning you in comfort. The sea stretches on and on for miles. Farther than your eyes can see, fading off into unknown lands. Endless, majestic turquoise-blue.

You stop when the water reaches your waist. You stand perfectly still, enjoying the sensations of the wind, the sea, the sand.

That’s when you look down. Down into the water that surrounds you, wraps itself to you. 

So I ask you: What do you see? Tell me; what. Do you  _ see?” _   
  
Now. Open your eyes.”

  
  


The screaming and thrashing is instantaneous. Walker flies back away from the window with a strangled cry and nearly tumbles over his own feet. At that moment, his own heartbeat had stopped for one whole second out of fright. His body chills. He’ll never find out but had aged three years. It shows.

It’s pure terror in there. The bodies are writhing, wanting to twist in unnatural ways.The restraints stop them but just barely. He can hear the sounds of metal bending. He covers his ears, he can’t stand the screaming. It’s not Arkham’s usual song. This is distorted. It’s unearthly. Wrong.

There’s no time to think, it’s all happening too fast. His own heart pounds too fast. He doesn’t have the strength for this. This isn’t what he wants.

Something gets shoved in front of his face. It’s a gas mask. Jonathan is next to him, talking. Walker has just enough self of mind to understand that the intern is telling him to put the mask on and to come with him into the next room. The air isn’t clear yet. He’s saying it’s the only way to get a ‘proper study of the results’.

A thought in the back of his brain floats  _ What study? This is monstrous! _ But it isn’t strong enough to land and it drifts away in the cacophony of noise. He dumbly puts the mask on as instructed and feels himself being pulled by the arm out of the safety of the lab to the hysteria of the next room. 

Watching it through the glass is one thing. Experiencing it play out in front of him is another.

All of it is amplified tenfold. The sounds are deafening. He thinks he feels a liquid leak out of one of his ears but he’s not in the correct frame of mind to check for sure. His attention his glued to the subjects. He hardly registers Jonathan making straight for the potpourri, pick it up and smash it on the ground. He’s not sure what the young doctor-to-be does after that.

His legs don’t want to work correctly. So it’s a waddle he makes to get to the gurneys. He stumbles into the foot of subject three’s gurney and clings to it like a lifeline. He’s suffocating in the headgear, he knows it.

How did this happen? In a blink it went from zero to one-hundred. This isn’t what Walker meant by changing their emotions. His mind is useless to him, so everything else in his training goes on autopilot. He takes inventory over each subject.

  
  


Subject one: Female. Acts like she is being attacked by an unseen force. Keeps trying to turn away. Her shrieks are blood-curdling. Thought she could barely move…

Subject two: Male. Body lays abnormally stiff and rigid. Lips curled into the mouth. Head facing the ceiling, yet eyes are staring into the uppermost corner of the room. There is nothing there. Yet they are bulging out, he won’t blink. Beginning to notice he has a severe full body tremor. He’s paling.

Subject three: Male. Had been thrashing about before coming into the room, is not now. Appears deceased yet stomach rises and falls in slow rhythms. Eyes heavily lidded. The gag is somehow been removed from mouth, can see the tip of the tongue; it is black. Skin ashen. Nails have appeared to become claw-like. Skin sinking in.

Subject four: Male. Remains still, no change. Unaffected? Continuesly stares at Jonathan.

Subject five: Male. Turns from side to side. Eys are rolled up into back of head. Strange, almost amplified grunts or groans spill out in long wails from deep within the throat. Gag does not seem to be a hindrance. This process continues.

  
  


Walker’s heart is palpitating. He’s growing short of breath, he can’t see. He backs up with hands out in front of him, trying to wave the images away. He’s too old for something like this. He doesn’t want this. He’s… He’s got to get help.

“My God… _ My God!”  _ he yells into the madness. He grabs two fistfulls of hair, turns, and runs from the accursed room. He doesn’t get far before he collapses in the empty, dark hallway.

~~~***~~~

Crane watches him flee. 

He doesn’t follow. This isn’t the first time, after all. By now he’s most likely laying passed out on the floor. He checks his watch. Seconds to midnight. Right on time, as always. He’s never late. He’ll collect what the old man gained from observing the subjects then reset his memories later. Right now, he has something else on his mind…

He tunes the others’ out. They don’t bother him. They’re just background noise. Instead, all of his precious attention is centered on the one who hasn’t taken his eyes off him since he last entered this room. _ As it should be. _

Crane walks up to the skinny man, enticed by those blue-green orbs of his. He doesn’t remove his mask. He likes the feel of it on, the camouflage. The protection. A shield. He’s more powerful with it on. Won’t suffer like the rest.  _ You can’t get in. But _ **_I_ ** _ can. _

The closer Crane gets the more the other tries to touch him. The shackles stop him. But he doesn’t seem to notice, he can’t look away. Wonderful. He stops next to the side of the thin man’s bed and reaches out a hand. He cups the other’s face and just as he had hoped, the man moans and nuzzles into the touch. Eyes flutter closed.

A heat sparks inside Crane. It’s delicious and exciting, and he’s determined to feed it at any cost.

He leans over the fragile being closer to his face. “Hungry for me, are we?”

The subject whimpers, expressions changing rapidly from one to another. He suddenly goes limp which forces Crane to hold his head up and he  _ loves _ it. There’s a need in those brilliant eyes of his. It’s so strong that for once Crane is cursing himself for having the gas mask on. It’s infuriatingly in the way. 

Oh well. He’s not quite done yet.

He leans in close again and whispers, “Drown for me,” then releases his hold and backs away.

As he suspected, the words had an instant effect. He barely steps back when suddenly the frail body lurches upward, eyes wide. The shackles on him are straining his limbs to hold him down - there  _ will _ be visible marks later. This one does tend to bruise so easily.

Crane watches in a sickly delight, wanting to but refraining from touching his groin as the man in front of him begins to choke.  _ It’s working _ , he thinks.  _ By God, it’s working. _

The struggle for air is real. The man is gagging, his throat is turning red. The face is becoming purple. He coughs hard and a handful of liquid erupts out. It splashes over his face, into his nose, choking him more, down his chin. The man’s eyes are watering and the tears spill out. The body keeps pushing skyward and Crane knows. He  _ knows _ the man is actually drowning. The fear is in the eyes. It’s all played out in those exquisite eyes. And now the light is dimming from them…

Crane settles the palm of his hand in the middle of the man’s chest and splays it out. He’s not an exceptionally strong man, but he knows his own limits. He presses down on the upturned body and though it’s a fight, he is winning. The torso lowers little by little. He feels the heartbeat fade. 

Once more, Crane leans into an ear. “Surface.”

The man collapses, gasps for oxygen.

The thin man takes deep gulps of the still-tainted air, coughing when he’s taken far too much. All this has drained him and he can barely keep his eyes open. He groans. All he can to do is take in that precious air that had been so wrongfully denied him.

Crane drinks it all in. Stroking his hand up and down the man’s torso, feeling every curve and detail there is to find. His other hand pets the long, curly, sweaty hair out of the other’s face. He is so proud of him.

“Exceptional,” he breathes, voice heavy with want. “Not like the others at all. That’s why you’re my favorite, Arthur.”

  
  
\--------------------------------

**Author's Note:**

> (A/N: Hello. So, if anyone is even reading this or is curious; yes this whole weird series-thing is an origin story for Bruce and yes, this is Jonathan Crane. Is this the usual storylines for these guys? Absolutely not. Why? Because as it has been said repeatedly by the director of this movie, Joker, Todd Phillips has said that this world is not the same as any of the others that we know of. It is a stand-alone and is its own entity. Has nothing to do with any of the other DCAUs. Therefore, the origins of these characters becoming who they are obviously will not be like anybody else's version. They still will become what we know them as... just. Not how we know it.
> 
> And also, I'm making this up as I go lol. Because of prompts.)
> 
> Comment what you liked <3


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